


Once More, With Feeling (And Resentment)

by KivaEmber



Series: Wine Cellar [45]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Dissociation, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Multi, Not A Fix-It, Post-Stormblood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secret Identity, Time Travel, WoL Needs A Hug, WoL tries but, things go pear-shaped, this started off as a quick oneshot what is my life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-02-18 12:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: "What thefuck?"he whispered, his voice cracking in the middle, "What the fuck is mylife?"Or;The Warrior of Light unwillingly time-travels and immediately puts his foot into the steaming pile of shit that is 'do not fuck up the timeline'.(he fucks up the timeline)





	1. Chapter 1

Somehow, despite vividly remembering Elidibus swinging a blade down at his unprotected neck before he blacked out, Aza wasn't dead.

It was a realisation he came to after staring dazedly at a bright blue sky, vultures circling high above him with no smog, flashes of anti-aircraft fire, paratroopers and other insane, terrible things that had plagued Ghimlyt Dark's skyline. The ground beneath him was just loose sand and unyielding rock. Insects buzzed.

He ached, though. Bone deep, in a way that throbbed like he'd swallowed a lit fire crystal and it was now burning its way through his core. His aether felt disjointed, fizzling whenever he tried to reach out to it to soothe the ache, or at least give him the energy to move. Like something had exhausted his aether levels until nothing but fumes remained.

 _"Urgh,"_ he mustered up, wondering if maybe he did a panicked, emergency teleport in the split second before Elidibus skewered him. Those always tended to dump you in random places if your concentration shattered at a critical moment. Probably lucky he hadn't scattered his limbs across Eorzea's landscape then.

Content with this explanation for now, he slowly heaved himself up. The vultures had landed and were now hobbling somewhere near his boots, the little scavengers.

"Not today," he rasped, watching them flutter back as he climbed to his feet, squawking irritably at him, "Still kicking."

The vultures stared at him doubtfully.

Aza ignored them, panting as he found his balance, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain just crawling through his every nerve. What the hell was this? It felt like whenever he pushed Living Dead to its absolute limits, muscles twitching and spasming as he shambled like a zombie across a wide open, rocky plain that had a very passing resemblance to Ghimlyt Dark before it was turned into a war zone.

The vultures languidly hopped after him.

It took him an excruciatingly long hour to find a road - well, a dirt-track, with deep rivets that looked suspiciously like Magitek tracks scouring deep grooves into it. Aza stared at it uneasily, his gaze flickering from one end of the road to the other. One side stretched around a squat clump of striped, stone hills, a mountain range looming beyond them, the other towards something more marshy, the glitter of a familiar salt lake in the far distance, the rising ruins of old Ala Mhigan architecture - and Ala Mhigo itself, almost glaringly white under the scorching sun.

For a long moment, he wrestled with the feeling of _something is wrong, very wrong, very **wrong**._

He swallowed it, though, idly kicked out at a vulture that experimentally pecked at his calf, and ambled onward. The Magitek tyre treads were new, fresh, upturned dirt from the heavy wheels scattering across the track stirred up from his dragged footsteps. Slowly, the salt lake grew closer, and Aza realised the dirt track was leading him up to the Saltery, except...

The last he saw the Saltery, it was thriving. Lolorito may be scum incarnate, but he was devoted to investment, and the Saltery wanted for nothing as it was rebuilt from the ground up, becoming a bustling Saltery that was beginning to ship out to the entirety of Eorzea, and even Kugane and Doma. Wiscar never shut up about it whenever Aza visited, but it had been a pleasant thing to listen to, the Hyur's face bright with a hopeful pride, a happiness that this one thing the Empire had stamped into dust was reviving, giving lifeblood to Ala Mhigo's reconstruction.

Now, it was a pile of grey-stoned rubble. Empty.

Aza staggered his way into the middle of it in a daze, not understanding. It wasn't fresh destruction either - old stone, weathered by the elements, shells of warehouses and homes barely remaining, with chunks blasted out of the earth from Magitek artillery, grooves and pits into stone from fired rounds. This looked... this looked like before, when Aza first came to the Lochs. How can... what?

His legs were shaking - from exhaustion and horrified confusion both - and he knelt, abruptly, knees aching from striking cracked, dusty stone. He pressed his hand against his mouth, digging his fingers into his cheek to keep him focused as he looked from empty, broken building to empty, broken building, breaths ragged against his gloved palm.

There had to be an explanation. A... was he dreaming? A very vivid, painful and long Echo dream? Or maybe he was dead and this was his brain regurgitating out memories before he finally slipped into the lifestream?

The stomp of boots on gravelly stone roused him out of his increasingly panicked thoughts, and he sluggishly looked over his shoulder to see an Imperial patrol walk into the ruined village.

They stopped when they spotted him, and there was a tense, weird pause where the troops merely looked at him - not with horror or surprise that the Warrior of Light, bane of the Imperials, was kneeling in the middle of the Saltery looking like his world had ended, but more like he was some weird, random ne'er-do-well and they were deciding whether to arrest him or kick him into the salt lake.

The arresting idea seemed to win out, and the one clad in a Centurion's armour stepped forwards, his hand on his gunblade's hilt, "This is a restricted area. Where are your papers? Your superiors?"

"Papers?" Aza replied blankly, finding the entire situation so bizarre he almost giggled hysterically, "Huh?"

"Sir, he looks a bit sun-touched," one of the Imperial troops spoke up uneasily. Aza picked out the Othard accent immediately, "Perhaps we should take him into custody for his, er, own good?"

"Hm," the Centurion canted his head to the side, "It is our duty to protect these savages from themselves..."

Aza's gaze slipped from the Centurion, counting the troops. Six in total, a small patrol - a surprisingly tiny patrol, considering they were in the heart of Ala Mhigan territory. Their postures were relaxed too, like it was routine for them to pick up bedraggled, sun-stroked Miqo'te. They didn't even recognise him. Emblazoned on the Centurion's chest, too, was the crest of the Imperial Ala Mhigan Imperial Guard, one Aza became very acquainted with when cutting his way through them all in a single-minded mission to messily murder Zenos into atoms.

Saltery in ruins. Imperial troops in Ala Mhigo. The Ala Mhigan Imperial Guard still active. Not recognising him. That feeling of wrongness rose up, up, up, until he was certain it was going to come out as vomit. Oh Gods. No. There was _no way._

The Centurion indicated, and two troopers strode over to him. The one who spoke up had his arm held up calmly when Aza skittered away instinctively.

"Hey, it's fine, c'mon," the trooper whispered when he was close, and in the slit of his helmet, Aza could see the glint of Seeker eyes, "Just a night in a cell. You might not get drafted..."

The other trooper, a burly Roegadyn, reached out for him, and Aza bolted.

There was a shout, and Aza's entire body practically screamed in agony, but fear was ever a potent fuel to burn, so Aza ran. He ran, heard a crack of a bullet, the stomp of boots chasing after him, but nothing could catch him once he was gone. He fled like the born coward he was.

He ran until he was fighting his way through waist-high brambles, the ground uneven beneath his boots and his lungs burning, no longer hearing the Imperial troopers give chase, his surroundings unfamiliar. He staggered to a halt, crumpling into that bramble bush, ignoring thorns digging into him, and tried to remember how to breathe.

There was no way. None. He did this shit with Alexander, and- _fuck._

Aza did giggle then, high-pitched and hysterical, clutching at his hair as he panted frantically. Last he remembered - Elidibus, blade coming for him, Aza realising this was it, with that fucking _Calling dipshit_ trying their damnest to rip his brain out of his skull-

He stilled.

Was this... Krile mentioned there came a point where she couldn't follow the other Scions' path through the aetherical sea, where it merely cut off. Could... this be what happened? Instead of being pulled across worlds, they were pulled across _time_  
  
It sounded batshit, but Alexander hadn't been a fever dream, though it had been so confusing it sure had felt like a fever dream, so Aza reluctantly lend credence to the idea. Okay, the Calling dipshit pulled him back in time? To... before Ala Mhigo's liberation, at least, to do... something? And what did that mean for his body back home? Was he dead there but alive here? How far back was he? Sometime during Ala Mhigo's occupation, so no more than twenty years? Or was it ten? Fuck, he barely knew Eorzean history, argh.

"What the _fuck?"_ he whispered to himself, voice cracking in the middle, "What the fuck is my _life?"_

The Imperials didn't recognise him either, so was this before he became famous? Before the Warrior of Light business? Before he even set foot in Eorzea? He had no idea. He needed a date.

A date. Yeah. Okay. Date and time. Then he can... figure something out.

Shaking violently, he slowly crawled his way out of the bramble bush and sat on the scraggly grass instead. He was near some swamp thing, gigantitoads croaking lazily in the mud pool they were wallowing in. They were staring at him with their bulbous eyes, but thankfully weren't hungry enough to try and do anything about him.

Aza stared back.

Wait, if he was back in time, did that mean there was two of him? The thought was discomforting. If he came face to face with himself, would he break time or something? Cause a paradox? Probably a major freak out on both of their parts. Shit, maybe he should get a helmet and hide his face for the time being, just in case. Past-Aza didn't need to be saddled with rumours of an insane doppelganger running around screaming about the fucked up future.

But, what if he did go to the Scions? Blather about time travel, show off he had the Echo, maybe get Hydaelyn to vouch for him for once, show off his Crystal of Light... and probably get branded a lunatic, a thief, and locked away somewhere. Plus, depending on the timeline, Lahabrea might still be creeping ab-

Aza jolted to his feet, hissing at the pain that caused. _Lahabrea._ He forgot! That snake could be slithering about as Thancred right now, and if there was one thing he regretted, it was all those innocent people being slaughtered at the Waking Sands because Lahabrea was a dick.

But... he had no white auracite. No blade of light. The alternative was to beat the shit out of Thancred and hope Lahabrea would nope out - more than likely Lahabrea would let him kill Thancred by accident, just to spite him, and Aza would become an enemy to the Scions for murdering one of their own.

"I need a date first, then see if I'm the only one brought back, then... then, yeah. Plan," he said aloud. If this was after Ultima Weapon, then fretting over Lahabrea was pointless.

Goal in mind, he let himself focus on that, scraping his fingers through his mussed hair and breathing. Okay. Fine. Time to sneak into civilisation, find a helmet, and grab people demanding what year it was.

How hard could that be?


	2. Chapter 2

"What urgent news do you bring, Thancred?"

"It regards Ala Mhigo," Thancred said solemnly, watching Lyse barely contain her reaction in his peripheral. Her mask hid all but the thinning of her mouth, and the rest of the Scions exchanged grim looks. Any news from Ala Mhigo always tended to be troubling, whether it was the building of Garlean forces near the Gridanian border, or troop movements and suspicious shipment of secretive cargo in the region. However, this time... 

"Approximately a week ago, Zenos Wir Galvus was conducting a routine inspection of the legion in Ala Mhigo. My sources think it's a sign of where the civil war is turning, that Varis will be the one to claim the throne if his son is already assuming overall military command." 

"A bold assumption," Y'shtola commented. 

"The writing has been on the wall for months now," Thancred said, "But the succession dispute in Garlemald is not the focus. For during Zenos Wir Galvus's inspection of an Imperial outpost, he came under attack by local resistance forces."

"That is hardly news," Papalymo sighed, "Ala Mhigan Resistance Forces are a tenacious lot, despite the overwhelming odds. I suppose they were wiped out?" 

Lyse's lips thinned further, her fingers flexing hard enough the leather of her gloves audibly creaked, "Maybe that's why Thancred's telling us this? Maybe they _weren't?"_

"Yda's right, they weren't," Thancred confirmed, "In fact, Zenos was successfully repelled." 

Stunned silence filled the Solarium, and across from him Minfilia was frowning, her eyes distant. He glanced at her worriedly, but as if sensing his gaze, she refocused on him and smiled. 

"A week ago, you said?" Minfilia asked. 

"Yes," Thancred paused a moment, but when Minfilia said nothing more, he continued; "Now, this is where things become... strange. The local resistance forces were losing when they launched an ill-advised, desperate attack against Zenos, only to be helped by a stranger who, and I quote, 'swooped out of nowhere, screaming bloody murder, and knocked Zenos flat on his arse'."

Minfilia made a cut off noise, like she only managed to suppress a shocked laugh at the last second, "This stranger... who is he?" 

"No idea," Thancred sighed, shrugging exaggeratedly, "He hasn't seen fit to divulge a name, and has even concealed his identity via the usage of masks and some such. The Resistance are content to indulge his self-imposed mystery, so long as it means he continues to assist them." 

"People that powerful don't appear out of nowhere," Y'shtola said, partly to herself as she tapped her cheek, "Those that can stand against Zenos Wir Galvus are few... even in his young age, he's known for his martial prowess." 

And apathetic cruelty, Thancred did not add. Zenos was not known to be malicious or to indulge in pointless torturing of those trapped beneath the Empire's yolk, but neither was there a grain of mercy to be found within a bone in his body. The man was a killing machine in every sense of the word, so to hear that there was someone able to stand toe to toe with a burgeoning monster like that... 

"Whoever he is, he's clearly an ally, right?" Lyse piped up hopefully.

"A _potential_ ally," Papalymo said, "Not everyone who fights the Empire is a friend, Yda."

Minfilia hummed thoughtfully, "I think we should keep an eye on the situation for now. We have little reach within Ala Mhigo and fewer still in reliable sources. Friend or foe... it's best to learn more about our stranger, yes?"

The Scions made low, consenting noises, and Thancred stifled a sigh. He'll have to split his focus more towards Ala Mhigo now, as well as juggling his duties within Thanalan and the Scions as an organisation. Another portion on his already overladen plate... 

He felt a tension headache throb behind his eyes, but he ignored it. He'll manage it. Minfilia and everyone else was relying on him. 

"I'll bump it up in priority," he said with a bright smile, "Now onto a more mundane report: Ul'dah has been rather calm after the attempted Voidsent attack on the Sultana, in small thanks to that adventurer I spoke about before."

"Ah, yes, Aza, correct?" Minfillia looked pleased, "I've heard good tidings about him myself, though it's said he's very reserved and unsociable."

"Shy, I think," Thancred said with some humour, "But I will continue to evaluate. I'm mostly convinced he has the Echo, so once I have confirmation..."

"Of course," Minfilia nodded, "Thank you, Thancred. Is that all?"

"That's all." 

"In that case... Y'shtola, is Limsa Lominsa recovering from the Victory's sabotage?" 

"Slowly. They are reaching out to Gridania for more lumber..."

Thancred tuned out, already aware of Limsa Lominsa's woes regarding their pet project, and found his thoughts shifting to the mystery man in Ala Mhigo. Y'shtola was right, such powerful individuals simply didn't appear out of thin air, like this one supposedly did. He had to have slithered out of some hole, and if he did, why now? What was his aim? His goal? 

Until he knew, Thancred placed this man firmly in the 'dangerous - approach with caution' category. He might have to take a look at him himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah the second Aza saw Zenos all rationality went out the window. we'll see the consequences of that impulsive lapse of murderous rage next chapter... 
> 
> Also, a few notes: 
> 
> 1) Thancred is calling Lyse in his head, bc at the end of Heavensward, when Lyse revealed that she wasn't Yda, the Scions said they already knew. So, verbally, Thancred will call Lyse Yda, but in his head will call her Lyse, same with the other Scions. 
> 
> 2) Zenos is Wir and not Yae, because Wir is the title for a Garlean who is part of the Royal Family but not in line for the throne, whereas Yae is for those in line for the throne. As the succession civil war is still ongoing in Garlemald, Zenos will be referred to as Wir until that's settled. 
> 
> 3) Yes, there are now two Aza's. One from the future, one from the current timeline. We'll see how that mess pans out. 
> 
> So, with that outta the way... tell me what you think! :3c what your thoughts on the mess this is gonna turn into hah


	3. Chapter 3

Berwyn uneasily eyed the Miqo'te. 

The Miqo'te stared back. 

"Er," Berwyn started, then coughed when his voice caught, painfully aware of his men's gazes sharp on his back, trying not to waver beneath the cold, flat stare this Miqo'te was pinning him down with. His nerves were still buzzing from narrowly avoiding a swift death by Zenos wir Galvus's blade, and he was ashamed to admit he was still out of sorts.

"You're one of the resistance groups, aren't you?" The Miqo'te asked, his voice muffled by the helmet he wore - sleek, black metal, twisting horns sweeping forwards in a fascimile of a behemoth, that made those bright, yellow Seeker eyes more eerie as they peered at him through the visor, "Conrad's?"

So, this _absolute terrifying nightmare_ knew Conrad? "Er, no. Berwyn - me. It's mine." 

"Hmmm," The Miqo'te crossed his arms, his foot tapping idly as he swung his head this way and that, looking about themselves. 

The area was wrecked. It had once been an Imperial outpost, a tiny one meant to resupply passing patrols, but one that had still been guarded heavily by Magitek and trained Imperial troops. When Berwyn heard that one of the Imperial royals was visiting it, though, he knew they wouldn't have another opportunity to strike such a devastating blow against their masters. Everyone knew it had been near suicidal, but had gone with him anyway, all expecting to die but hopeful they'd succeed and...

Briefly, Berwyn wondered if this man had been sent by Rhalgr, for he was practically destruction incarnate. He swept out of nowhere, stopping Zenos wir Galvus's blade from cleaving Berwyn's head from his shoulders and knocking that monster flat on his ass before anyone realised what had happened. After that... Berwyn was ashamed to admit that the mysterious stranger single-handedly routed the entire outpost and chased off Zenos wir Galvus with the remnants of his troop, like a Coeurl running off intruders from its territory. 

"It'll have to do," The Miqo'te muttered, sounding annoyed, "Zenos will come back anyway-"

Berwyn's heart thudded at the thought. 

"-and I want to finish crushing his fucking throat with my _bare hands_ ," the Miqo'te finished in a low, guttural snarl, and for a brief moment, Berwayn swore his eyes blazed crimson. But the he blinked, and the Miqo'te was looking back at him with those yellow Seeker eyes, and Berwyn passed it off as a trick of the light, "Speaking of, the hell were you thinking, taking on Zenos? You guys got a death wish or what?"

"Er," Berwyn said again, "N-No, but, if it meant to strike a blow against the Empire-"

"Urgh," The Miqo'te blew out, "Right. I forgot how you Ala Mhigans are..."

 _So, you're not a fellow Ala Mhigan?_ Berwyn barely held back from asking, studying the shorter man. He had hoped he was one of the M tribe, but, if not then...? There was a flicker of prickly pride, one that growled that Ala Mhigans will free Ala Mhigo, but the pragmatist in him said beggars cannot be choosers. This man was practically a monster, all but crushed an entire outpost under his heel with minimal effort.

Berwyn _needed_ that power. 

"He'll be back, as you said," Berwyn said quickly, "Zenos wir Galvus, I mean. With more troops. The Empire react to uprisings with swift retribution." 

"Mm, yeah, they'll most likely go for your village over those hills, huh?" The Miqo'te said, in a low, dangerous tone that had the hair prickling along the back of Berwyn's neck, "Did you think of that when you launched this attack?" 

"They... no, they had nothing to do with-"

"Doesn't matter," The Miqo'te said flatly, "They're nearby, they're guilty. But never mind that. I'll help you." 

"You will?" Berwyn felt hope sing through him, "Oh, thank you-"

"Don't," The Miqo'te said sharply, and Berwyn fell quiet, "It's not forever, and I'm not gonna help you liberate your homeland. I just wanna kill Zenos."

Berwyn could live with that. There was time to convince him otherwise, "I understand. That will be more than enough help... what did you say your name was again?" 

The Miqo'te eyed him, flat and cold, for a very long moment. 

"... Fray," The Miqo'te said, sounding briefly pained, "Call me Fray. But don't go spreading it around." 

Berwyn nodded, noting that it was a false name. Whatever. He didn't care. So long as this 'Fray' struck down Zenos, and plenty of Imperials besides, Berwyn would call him whatever he wanted.

"By the way," Fray said, before Berwyn could turn to order his men to start heading back to camp, "I have a question."

"Yes?" 

Fray seemed to hesitate, the first flicker of uncertainty in an otherwise confident man, and Berwyn felt his interest pique. After a long, almost awkward pause, Fray asked: 

"What year is it?"

* * *

  
Upon being told, Fray erupted into a short, vicious cursing streak.


	4. Chapter 4

Lucso was anxious. 

Her eyes kept drifting from the guts of the Magitek Reaper she was supposed to be maintaining, past the legs of an inactive Colossus hiding her partially from view as the outpost’s commander verbally eviscerated one of the patrol sections. 

“-not to  _ run away _ from these local savages! Do you understand me!?”

“Yes, sir!”

It was Ghimsnoe who was bearing the brunt of the Centurio’s ire. A bowlegged Sea Wolf who came from a family who specialised in sea-raiding, now marching through the arid land of Ala Mhigo with a constant sullen expression. He didn’t look sullen now - there was a tense, fearful edge about him, which worried Lucso. Ghimsnoe was rarely  _ fearful _ . 

“Oi.” 

Lucso jumped when someone nudged her shoulder, and she realised she spent too long squinting past the Colossus’s legs and not enough squinting into the Reaper guts. Flushing pink, her ears flattening against her wild hair, she turned her head to see- 

“Oh, it’s just you, Crafty,” she breathed, relaxing at the grease smudged face of her fellow engineer. He was a Hyur, from some land Lucso barely knew about - but that was the same for all of the  _ aan _ here. Not one of them were an Ala Mhigan - utterly by design. 

“C’mon, Lu, you know the sketch,” Crafty scolded her gently, “Centurio Tulilis is just looking to bounce someone, and your ogling’s gonna paint you as a perfect target.”

“I know, I know, it’s just…” Lucso started digging back into the Reaper. A few wirings were fried when it escaped a skirmish with a skilled resistance mage. It gave up the ghost the second it walked through the outpost’s gates and honestly, it looked unsalvagable from where she was looking. 

“It’s just,” she repeated, leaning back on her heels, her tail coiling on the uncomfortable hot, metal floor, “You’ve heard the rumours, right?”

“Which ones?” Crafty asked dryly, “There’s a new one everyday.”

“About the Ala Mhigan Resistance,” Lucso said, dropping her voice into a low murmur when Centurio Tulilis finished flaying Ghimsnoe and sent the rest of the patrol scattering to escape his wrath, “How they defeated Lord Zenos and reclaimed a small piece of territory by the Striped Hills.”

“Oh, that,” Crafty chewed his bottom lip, turning away from her to stare at the Repear’s inert headlights, “Yeah, I heard that.”

“Patrols being sent out are getting whacked by them - hard,” Lucso continued, “I hear it from the guys. The Resistance’ve apparently got some… some  _ guy _ , a Miqo’te who’s practically a monster.” 

“A Miqo’te monster?” Crafty huffed out a laugh, “C’mon, Lu. Can you imagine a tiny little Miqo’te standing up against Lord  _ Zenos _ ?” 

Lucso bristled a little at the slight, “Miqo’te are stronger than you think!” she snapped, ripping out a handful of useless wiring from the Reaper, “He’s single handedly beaten outposts, and untouchable - some even say  _ immortal _ ! He got ran through with a sword, shrugged it off and pulled it out, perfectly fine!”

“That’s just crazy stories,” Crafty sighed, “The guys don’t wanna admit they’re getting complacent and screwed up with the locals, so they made up stories about some superhuman Miqo’te out in the wilderness.”

“But-!”

“Lu,” Crafty turned back to her, expression solemn, “You know no one’s going to save you from this.” 

She went silent, hurt even though she knew it to be truth, and glared into the depths of her Reaper, “...I know.”

“Yeah,” Crafty gentled his tone, “Look, a few more months and we’ll be rotated back to Garlemald, then be sent off somewhere new. I have a few friends up in administration, I can swing us to get placed in the Ruby Sea.” 

“ _ Ruby Sea _ ?” Lucso perked up a little at that, “The vacation tour?”

“The vacation tour,” Crafty grinned, and nudged her again, “So cheer up, Lu. It’s shit being part of the Empire, but it has its perks, right? S’long as you keep your head down and work hard at your citizenship.”

“Yeah…” Lucso sighed, “I know, it’s just… Mom talks a lot about how it was before the Empire, and it sounds…”

“The Empire takes care of us,” Crafty said, “Your Mom is… well, she’s from that generation that wasn’t raised right.  _ You _ have, so you know that our education, medical care,  _ everything _ , is better than out here in the savagelands.” 

Lucso felt uncomfortable as her friend spoke, but she couldn’t put a finger on what exactly it was. She fidgeted with a broken wire between her gloved fingers, knowing that Crafty was right - the Empire  _ did _ take care of its citizens… it was just, even if you were born into the Empire, as an  _ aan _ you still had to work your tail off for  _ twenty years  _ before you were considered for full citizenship. You were denied rights  _ bas _ and  _ cen _ had from the moment they were born - you were always an  _ outsider _ . You could be the most Imperial that ever Imperialed, but as an  _ aan _ , you were always deemed as a  _ pretender _ and worth less than a pure-blooded Garlean. 

It was exhausting, to work for the scraps that others worked nothing for, and a part of Lucso thought that if she ran away and went straight into poverty in fucking Ul’dah or whatever, at least she’d be exactly the same as every other impoverished refugee there. No hidden rules or moving goalposts to futilely strive towards. 

“Let’s finish this Reaper off and go grab our two bottles for the night, eh?” Crafty said, “Ejene’s dealing the cards this time round, so we’re bound to win some more.” 

“Alright,” Crafty pushed herself to her feet, “We’ll have to-”

A piercing wail cut through her words, and she instinctively threw herself flat on the floor before she fully recognised it as the IDF alarm. Shouting rose up, and a few seconds later, the hot metal floor beneath her vibrated from a heavy,  _ booming _ impact. 

“Shit!” Crafty was lying on the floor next to her, the pair of them huddled underneath the Reaper’s shell as their piece of cover, “Seriously?  _ Now _ ?”

Lucso could see the outpost’s centre from her position, between the Colossus’s legs, saw people flat on the ground as the klaxon wailed, hearing the whistling whine of projectiles before they landed. None had hit the interior of the outpost so far, but the Resistance only had to be lucky  _ once _ , and they were quick at adjusting their aim. 

It bewildered her, though. She heard of the outposts further afield getting hit by amateur artillery - the Resistance scrounged missiles and rockets from Magitek wrecks of past skirmishes and assembled a primitive mortar system from sheet metal and mud mounds - but their outpost was too close to the salt flats, too close to  _ Ala Mhigo _ itself. They could have reinforcements here within the hour, why would they…?

Lucso flinched when a rocket finally landed past the wall. It struck dead centre of the outpost - luckily not hurting anyone - sending a spray of mud and gravel flinging through the air was deadly shrapnel. It bounced harmlessly off the Colossus acting as an unintentional shield for them. 

But nothing more followed. After that rocket, no more came for a painfully long, tense minute. The alarm wailed, and wailed and… stopped, signalling no more rockets were inbound. 

“Damn,” Crafty breathed beside her, his voice wobbling a little, “First time I sat through one of those.”

“Yeah,” Lucso whispered, having heard of these rocket attacks but never seen one for herself. It had been nerve wracking, not knowing if one would land directly on top of them. While the Reaper could take the brunt of the explosion with its armour, the concussive blast would’ve killed her and Crafty - or at least, severely injured them. 

People were moving now - running around the outpost, yelling for a response team to barge out and find where those rockets had come from. They had to be within a certain distance, with a certain vantage point to hit so close after all. 

Lucso wasn’t sure what to do. She was just a Magitek engineer, not a soldier, though she was given rudimentary training for self-defence. Was she meant to continue working on the Reaper like nothing had happened? As she sat up, though, she found her hands shaking a bit too much to do anything like that. 

“It’s over,” Crafty told her, looking far more composed. He clapped her shoulder, then helped her to her feet, “They’ll find ‘em, don’t worry. Let’s just go back to work, eh?”

“Y-Yeah,” Lucso said, giving herself a bit of a shake. Her tail’s fur was all fluffed out, and her ears were flattened against her skull, but she managed to stop her hands from shaking as she determinedly turned back to the Reaper, paying little attention as Ghimsnoe and his section charged out of the outpost, and into the wilds beyond. 

* * *

The outpost was a tiny one. Aza peered around the compound from the blasted open doors. The centre was loose mud and gravel, a perfect square, surrounding by a border of thick, black metal with Magitek latched into place. They never got the chance to activate any of them in the outpost’s defence - not that much of it looked functional anyways. From what Aza could tell, they had a few functional Reapers and the rest were just… there. Neglect or from lack of resources? Aza didn’t know or care.

Humming a quiet tune under his breath, he swaggered in. The rest of the Resistance had already secured the compound after he thrashed the occupying military force - he barely broke a sweat - and they were practically salivating at the thought of reclaiming actual  _ functioning _ Magitek to swell their fighting power. 

Aza didn’t care about that, though. What he cared about was Zenos. The Resistance was being bold, almost reckless, hitting an outpost so close to Ala Mhigo Quarter - but it was prompt a swift response from the Imperials. Zenos was still in the city, so they  _ must _ send him, and Aza will sit here and wait for him, and hopefully butcher him into tiny little pieces. Let’s see Elidibus try to body snatch dismembered  _ mincemeat _ .

A small commotion drew his attention, and he wandered over to an inert Colossus to see a pair of Resistance members pinning down- ah. 

“Thought you could slip by and spy on us, huh?” One Resistance growled, tightly gripping the cowering Miqo’te by her bicep. She was clad in Imperial engineering garb, without a single weapon on her. The other Imperial was a Hyur, his face flushed and furious with both of his arms twisted behind his back. 

“I- we weren’t- we’re just engineers!” the Miqo’te girl babbled, her pupils blown wide with fear and skin ashen with fear. They must’ve been hiding under the Magitek when the outpost was hit, “We’re not soldiers, we just fix Magitek!”

“Yeah, like  _ that _ hasn’t killed any of our countrymen!” the Resistance member drawled sarcastically, “You’re just as complicit as-”

“Enough.”

The two Resistance members - Arnar and Balder, if he remembered correctly - turned to look at him, expressions mutinous - until they realised who it was they were glowering at, and immediately looked cowed. 

“Fray!” Balder exclaimed uneasily, “Uh, we just found some, uh, spies.” 

“Spies,” Aza said flatly, unamused, “Look like a pair of engineers to me.” 

The Miqo’te girl was staring at him, something like fear and hope in her expression, “You- yeah,” she stammered, “Just, just engineers. I, we, I’ll help you! With the Magitek!”

“Lu!” Her Hyurian companion hissed, “What’re you doing?!”

“You need good technical knowledge to keep these running!” The Miqo’te continued, loudly, in a rush, like she thought she’d falter the second she stopped, “We know how to work them, how to- how to maintain them, and to work them! We can, we can teach you! I don’t even have Imperial citizenship yet!”

“Well,” Arnar loosened his grip on the girl’s arm, clearly conflicted, “We don’t know how to use them, yeah…”

“Idiot!” Balder groaned, “Why did you have to go admit that?”

Aza studied the Miqo’te for a moment. She was still looking at him, practically shaking yet… he couldn’t parse her expression, though it looked familiar. He knew a lot of the Imperial troops were conscripts, some unwilling, torn away from their homes and families to fight in foreign lands. Aza normally tried to forget, because remembering would make it difficult to fight them otherwise, but right now, he... couldn't. 

“Lu,” Aza repeated, “That’s not a Seeker name.” 

“It’s Lucso,” she whispered, “Um, Lucso  _ aan _ Talarel. My Mom was part of the E Tribe but, you don’t have tribes in the Empire, so…” 

Right. The Empire assimilated  _ everyone _ , stamped out everything to do with their culture and beliefs to adopt theirs instead.

“Fray isn’t a Seeker name either,” The Hyurian engineer said waspishly. Unlike Lucso, he didn’t seem pleased about his captivity, was giving Lucso discreet looks of disbelief, like he couldn’t comprehend why she would ‘sell out’ the Empire.

“No, it’s not,” Aza said, “Arnar, Balder, instead of dragging these two behind a corner and executing them or whatever-”

Balder spluttered, “W-What! We weren’t! We were gonna take them into custody!”

Aza paused, surprised. Oh. “Really? Cornac-”

“Is an asshole,” Arnar muttered quietly. 

“We’re gonna take them to Berwyn,” Balder said, “He’ll decide.” 

Aza nodded, “Tell Berwyn to consider Lu’s offer, yeah?”

“Sure thing, Fray.” 

The two Resistance members hauled their two prisoners off then, and Aza looked up towards the sky, already darkening towards twilight. He hoped Zenos would come soon. He needed to kill something that he knew was irrevocably evil. Zenos was a horrible creature with no sad backstory or circumstances that would make him second guess. He was simple and easy that way. 

That did beg the question: what to do after Zenos? Things started falling apart at max speed after that asshole appeared in his life, and Aza intended to shred him for it. After that… after that, he should take apart the others than ruined everything else. Ilberd, Thordan, the Heavensward, the Ascians… yeah, he’ll go after them next. If they’re gone, then all the bad shit that happened, it wouldn’t, anymore. 

He did not give thought to how this would warp the timeline, how this would cast this world onto a path unknown even to him, but Aza was not the type to brood overly much on the consequences of his actions. He saw a threat to his friends, to his future, and merely thought:  _ you need to die _ . 

So, he stood and waited for the first threat he needed to eradicate, to shunt the future onto new, untrod tracks. 


	5. Chapter 5

The sun just started to dip towards the horizon when Zenos came.

Rodnick gripped his _liberated_ magitek rifle tight with sweaty palms as that _monster_ came strolling out of the twilight dusk, a retinue of agitated soldiers at his slow, pondering heels. That answered the question why the reinforcements that should’ve only taken an hour to arrive took _three_ , if Zenos walked so casually.

The outpost they claimed was to be the ‘final battleground’. Berwyn had spoke with a hushed kind of fervour at the thought - all of them felt that passionate, desperate hope. If Fray delivered on his promise, if he killed _Zenos_ here, it would be a massive blow to Garlemald’s support. If intelligence was right, he was due to become the heir to the throne once his father won the civil war, and if he was slain here… who knows how that war will now end?

(Perhaps, it could herald the end of this cannibalising Empire, falling apart at the seams as it devoured itself)

It was a perfect place for such a pivotal moment in history. The dusky Ala Mhigan sky above, stars blotted out by the glare of the floodlights brightening up the pseudo-arena, and there, on each end of the outpost, Garlemald and the Ala Mhigan Resistance, glaring each other down behind their respective champions.

In another life, Rodnick might’ve been a journalist. Could feel his fingers itch with the urge to write down these thoughts - as jumbled and trite as they’d probably read. Nothing he wrote would capture how the very world held its breath as Zenos and Fray stared at each other, still and silent like two predators gauging their rival.

At a glance, it looked comical. Fray was so _small_ compared to Zenos. He was a short, compact Miqo’te of unknown origins (his accent wasn’t _Eorzean_ , let alone Ala Mhigan), burning with an inhuman strength bolstered by his sheer, single minded _hatred_ for Zenos. When Rodnick had screwed up the courage to ask him why, a few nights ago…

_(“Why do you hate him so much?”_

_Fray looked up from oiling his blade, the moonlight above reflecting off his horned, bestial helmet. He looked otherworldly then, something fey and dangerous as his golden eyes peered at him from the darkness of his helmet. It was said no one knew what he looked like, if there was even a man beneath that helmet._

_“... why do you hate the Empire?” Fray returned, his voice low and velvet._

_“Because they’ve tried to crush everything that makes us Ala Mhigan,” Rodnick said instantly. It was a question asked often to each other, to remind each other when the days seemed bleak why they kept fighting, “They work us like cattle, look down on us, call us ‘savages’... when they don’t allow us to be anything else.”_

_Fray bowed his head. The glint of his eyes vanished._

_“Zenos took everything away from me,” Fray said, very softly. He started rubbing his oil cloth over his greatsword again, “There’s nothing left in the world for me now, except killing him.”_

_“And after you kill him? What then? Will you stay with us?” Rodnick asked, trying not to let his pity show._

_Fray did not answer. Rodnick did not press.)_

If Fray succeeded here, Rodnick didn’t know how the man would continue on. Some days it seemed like his sole mission to murder Zenos was the only thing that got him up in the mornings. When he wasn’t talking strategies to lure Zenos out, or how he could incapacitate Zenos, or kill Zenos, or cripple Zenos, he said… nothing, really. He looked almost lost, bewildered about his place in the world.

Berwyn had said, after he defeated Zenos: keep him. Try to bring him home. Help him.

Rodnick stared at Fray’s tense back, and knew that unless the man was willing, they would be parting with him here.

* * *

Zenos’s pulse picked up.

Across from him stood the only man to ever wound him - a pain he felt even now, pulling and straining in his side, filling him with _jubilation_. It was a disadvantage; his blows from that side would be weakened, his range of movement constricted - already, the beast across him was hungrily eyeing his right side, cataloguing and _studying_ his weakness.

But Zenos was doing the same to him. The Beast’s left knee was braced, more weight pushed to the right - an old injury, one he automatically compensated for but still something to press if things became passionate. He’d be disappointed if he took the Beast by surprise from exploiting it.

Zenos licked his lips, the gesture hidden by his helmet, and felt his mouth curve into a wicked smile as he took the first step. The Beast tensed, those yellow, _hateful_ eyes glaring at him from the depths of his helm. Zenos’s heart almost skipped a beat.

Every battle had been boring, since he came here. Doma had been disappointing, if flatly productive, while Ala Mhigo had been _tedious_ . The same insects, launching themselves at his sword to helpfully skewer themselves on it. Desperation added an edge to otherwise mundane beasts, but it never held Zenos’s attention for long. Until this _monster_ lunged from the brush with fangs sharp and claws ready. Never before had he felt so _thrilled_ , so _invigorated,_  his pulse pounding from adrenaline and actually _working_ to survive against a powerful foe. The Beast was small, but his blows were certain, powerful, _decisive_.

So much passion. The Beast was filled with a conviction echoed hollowly in these so called _Resistance Fighters_. The Beast will kill him, was filled with the desire to rend him apart and fling his entrails into the wilderness - and had the power to do so.

 _This_. This was the game Zenos had always sought, ever since he stood beneath Father’s gaze and been declared a monster in need of a short leash after killing three self-proclaimed swordsmanship champions. So, he did his duty as any good, dysfunctional son, however dull it was, on the slim hope it would lead him to a worthy enemy… and it finally paid off.

“Are we going to fight?” The Beast snarled across from him, his posture agitated as the silence stretched for too long between them, “Or are you just going to stand there like a creep?”

“If you’re so eager,” Zenos purred, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, “Then make the first move, _beast_.”

The Beast made a low, guttural noise, but he obeyed.

Good boy.

The blow that came crashing down on his quickly drawn sword made his arm go numb. A delighted laugh erupted from him as he shoved the small weight away, amazed how that little monster _cleared the entire clearing_ in a single leap! Amazing! Such speed! Such _precision_!

“Close!” Zenos called jovially, pleased to see The Beast land easily on his feet from his failed lunging strike, his weak knee not troubling him at all, “But you need to be _faster_.”

“I’ll _faster_ you!” The Beast snarled, which made no sense, honestly, but Zenos didn’t care because now his enemy was savagely striking at him with wild, yet relentless blows. No finesse, no style, just raw, brutal strength that had Zenos backing up. This close, Zenos could see the crazed, hateful desperation in his Beast’s eyes, hear his strained grunting and short yet controlled breathing - this savage strength and speed could not be kept up indefinitely, but neither could a normal man withstand this kind of assault for more than a few seconds.

Zenos was no normal man.

He feinted, allowed a hard blow to strike into a thick pauldron - pain, ignored, not his sword arm - to thrust his sword forward- _ah_. His Beast twisted away, as slippery as an eel, but the evasion made him lose momentum. His Beast backed up again when Zenos did a wide sweeping blow, and now they were standing some fulms apart, panting and waiting for the next show of weakness.

His shoulder stung from where the sword had cleaved through Garlean armour into the meat below. Blood tickled his skin. Zenos grinned wildly.

“Close,” Zenos repeated, in a low purr.

His Beast _hissed_ , jerking his blade up in a frustrated, almost childish gesture.

“Just _die_ ,” His Beast demanded, but he didn’t advance. The crazed battle-fever was gone from his eyes - replaced with something cold and calculating. Planning his next move, “You _worthless_ little _worm-_ ”

“What have I done, to bring such ire towards me?” Zenos asked, honestly curious. If this level of hatred brought out this kind of skill from people, maybe he should isolate the cause and try to replicate it. Of course, His Beast was a unique individual, no doubt, but if he won this day and accidentally killed him, Zenos wanted a repeat, if possible.

“What did you _do_?” His Beast whispered, sounding breathless from rage alone. It was intoxicating to witness, “You ripped _everything_ away from me!”

Did he? Zenos didn’t remember massacring a Miqo’te family/tribe in recent memory- no time to think. His Beast lunged forward again, blows coming faster and harder, Zenos’s movement slowed by his injured side and shoulder. It made the Beast’s sword glance off his armour, scraping his helm, coming close, close, _closer_ …

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here!” His Beast howled, “If you _never_ existed- I’ll erase you! I’ll make sure you’ll never touch my history again! _I’ll kill you_!”

Well, that explained nothing.

Zenos grunted when his blade was almost torn from his hands redirecting an otherwise fatal blow. His fingers were numb, arm muscles screaming in exertion, and his Beast was already swinging back in for another round, practically immune to exhaustion with how his blows hadn’t softened or slowed despite the breakneck pace. Zenos, for the first time in his life, physically _dodged_.

His Beast’s balance wobbled as his sword came crashing down into the dirt, embedding deep into it and holding fast.

“ _What-!?_ ” His Beast gasped.

Ah, pity. His Beast didn’t expect that.

Zenos struck, in that decisive moment. He went for the throat, to part his head from his shoulders, neat and tidy - but his Beast twisted away, the edge of Zenos’s blade cutting into his helmet, shearing the metal horn off and making his Beast spit out a furious curse-

Fragments of metal littered the floor, and in that moment, Zenos saw his enemy’s face for the first time.

A quarter of it, but it was enough - darkly tanned skin, Miqo’te markings, a scar over the eye, wide with shock, and locks of white highlighted blond hair - yes, Zenos could estimate what his entire face would look like from that alone.

“ _No_!” His Beast gasped, clamping a hand over his exposed face, hiding it from view, the other eye squinted with disbelieving rage, “You _fucking_ -”

“A face I’ll never forget,” Zenos purred, allowing his Beast a moment to wrench his blade free and put space between them, still clutching his face, “Planning to fight me one handed like that, are we?”

His Beast looked furious, but wavered. Clearly, his exposed identity had unbalanced him.

Why is that?

“Will you give me a name, to accompany that face?” Zenos pressed, advancing a step. His Beast backed up on, “Or shall I give you one.”

“It’s _Fray_ , you disgusting creep!” His Beast, _Fray_ , snarled, lowering his hand and gripping his hilt with both hands. A line of blood was soaking into his eyebrow, “Not that it’ll matter. You’re not leaving here alive!”

“Ah. A promise I’ve heard often, and always been disappointed by,” Zenos drawled.

Fray hissed, posture shifting to lunge forwards- only to abruptly dart back when a loud, telltale _crack_ filled the air, a sniper shot missing him by mere _ilms_. The round harmlessly sailed across the outpost and hit one of the Resistance fighters gawking on the sidelines instead.

Zenos was _enraged_.

He turned, hissing through his teeth when the Tribunus of Ala Mhigo came storming through the outpost gates with _his_ retinue and bullying Zenos’s men into a bewildered kind of compliance. The glinting white metal of Tribunus Ildonis was the most unwanted sight Zenos ever had the misfortune to witness, and if the man weren’t so unworthy of his attention, he probably would’ve eliminated the pest the month he arrived in this arid land. Instead, he did his duty and _now_ that little ant had the gall to interrupt his dance with Fray…

“We’re here to rout the rebels, not conduct dramatic death matches!” Tribunus Ildonis barked at his men, and Zenos turned away to see that His Beast had already beat a hasty retreat, every line in his body tense with frustration, an emotion Zenos shared  _emphatically_.

There was no backward glance from Fray, no last insult shot over his shoulder. Instead his Beast fled with the rest of the Resistance, before they could be trapped or overrun by the sizeable force Tribunus Ildonis brought - no doubt Fray thought it pointless to continue their battle with interference souring the mood. Still, to not even linger for a moment… Zenos felt his mood blacken, his grip tightening on his hilt. He felt slighted almost. It was a novel yet unpleasant feeling.

“Lord Zenos,” Tribunus Ildonis nattered as he approached, the clomp of soldiers’ boots on his heels making Zenos grit his teeth, “Far be it for me to question someone from His Radiance’s line, but this-”

Zenos walked away from him without a word, ignoring the offended spluttering at his back while he squelched the very tempting urge to cut the man down. His father would get annoyed it he killed a high ranking Tribunus without just cause, not until he secured the Emperor’s throne, in any case, and Zenos couldn’t risk being pulled from Ala Mhigo until he settled this fight with _Fray_. Tribunus Ildonis will live for now.

But, it wasn’t entirely pointless. Fray. Fray. _Fray_. Zenos seared the name into his memory, as well as that glimpse of his enemy’s face, that exposed glare of hate burning through him…

Yes. Zenos will remember that face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^)


	6. Chapter 6

Aza woke up in the space between dreams.

He recognised the hazy surroundings, distant twinkling stars and the glowing sigil beneath his feet. He looked up, expecting to see Hydaelyn loom over him, glaringly bright and searing, but- nothing. Distant stars, haze of pale blue, and a vast emptiness that reminded him of Omega’s dimension.

Beneath his feet the sigil flickered, its light wan.

He didn’t know what prompted him to turn around. It was a gut instinct, running below his conscious thought, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling; _threat_. He pivoted on his heel, drew in an airless gasp to see the sigil - _shattered_. In half, as if someone brought a great hammer and obliterated it, fragments drifting towards a yawning, pitch black darkness that drew all light within it. He could see the dull glint of the purple crystal gifted by the Sylphs slowly fading into dust, drawn towards that open maw.

“What,” he began, taking a step - but his foot sank through the sigil, its light blinking out, turning into mist, and the void took his screams as he fell, away from the light, down, into deep, bottomless _darkness_ -

**_COME BACK. WARRIOR OF LIGHT, YOU MUST COME BACK._ **

The Calling! The darkness roared with it, rattling his bones, scrabbling, invisible hands clawing at him, dragging him, pulling him deeper into the darkness, wrenching him _somewhere_ , and he fought and thrashed and screamed, clawing back every inch, that blinking, fading light above his only guide in this smothering blackness-

**_COME BACK. COME BACK._ **

**_YOU ARE LOST._ **

“No! No, let _go of me_!” he cried, and he _pulled_ and-

It was like getting slingshotted into a stone wall. The darkness abruptly exploded into a burst of bright white that _hurt_ , and suddenly his head connected with unyielding wood, limbs tangled up in his blanket, half sprawled off his bed as he flailed and thrashed until he realised - awake, he was _awake_ , could see his ceiling, the walls, and, and, he was awake and… and…

“Fuck,” he gasped, sprawling out with his chest heaving for air, “ _Fuck_ , fuck, fuck.”

What. the. Hell.

It took him an embarrassingly long moment to recompose himself, eyes stinging from the throb in his skull and his general distress about that whole _creepy episode_. Letting out a shuddering exhale, he kicked himself free of his blankets, sliding completely onto the floor and sitting up. It was still nighttime, a thin sliver of moonlight creeping between the thin curtains. It was a miracle he hadn’t woken anyone else up. The walls in this appropriated inn were pretty thin.

Had that been another Calling? If so it had been a _nasty_ one. His skin crawled from the phantom feel of hands grasping and pulling at him, and he rubbed his arms, keeping his breaths even.

Times like this, he would’ve gone to Bluebird. But she wasn’t here - or, the version of her that existed in this world wasn’t _his_ Bluebird. That hurt more to think about. If he ever saw her, it’d have to be in disguise, and she’d look at him like he was a stranger and…

_You are lost._

Sleep wasn’t going to come to him like this. Letting out a disgusted noise, he climbed to his feet and moved to the tiny worktable stashed on the far side of the room. It was rubbish compared to what he had back at the FC house or even Aymeric’s, but he made due - like he could do anything else, trapped as he was in this fucking _hell_ -

An ugly, tight feeling threatened to crawl up his throat at that thought, but he ruthlessly crushed it as he sat down heavily at his desk. Lit up by the pale glow of moonlight, a half-finished mask lay amongst wood shavings, abandoned when Aza had become too depressed to finish earlier that night.

He picked the thing up, slowly turning it between his fingers. His helmet had been irreparable after Zenos wrecked the damn thing - well, irreparable with his current materials. It had been made from Chromite, something which the Ala Mhigan Resistance lacked, and he couldn’t simply _plug_ up the hole with an inferior metal, not that he had good access to a smithy anyways…

So, this. He was planning on making something similar to the Wood Wailers’ mask, coupled with the Resistance’s hood, just until he could remake his behemoth helmet.

He let his thoughts quieten as his hands got to work, feeling his nerves slowly settled as he carved and smoothed the wood, breathing in the scent of sawdust. It was a peace that was getting harder and harder to grasp nowadays - without Bluebird to turn to, without the knowledge that if things got too hard, he could _go home_ , life was… things were…

His hands continued to work as his mind wandered. People kept asking him what the plan was after Zenos - and he couldn’t exactly _tell_ them that he planned to go on a mass killing spree to save the world, but it also made him painfully aware that beyond ‘kill this person so this horrible event never happened’ he… honestly didn’t know what to do with himself.

It wasn’t as if he could… go back to how things were. Aymeric didn’t even know who he was right now, Haurchefant was… too painful to consider, the Scions already _had_ an Aza, and Mom and Bluebird… they weren’t _his_ . They’d share the same face and mannerisms, but the memories of the past five years were… only belonged in his mind. Gods, Bluebird changed a lot in those five years. It’d be an ugly shock to see her _now_ , younger and… he felt nauseous thinking on it. This helpless, lost feeling, stretching out before him.

How was he meant to survive, after saving the future? He wouldn’t do so as Aza, but neither could he fully commit to ‘Fray’. The thought of losing everything he had built, that the past five years had been for _nothing_ , lost forever, a snatch of happiness that he worked _so hard_ for…

A soft _‘thnk’_ echoed through the room when his hands dropped, the mask hitting the desk, and he breathed slowly and shakily. Bluebird was right, no matter how much he changed, he was always a crybaby.

“Haven’t I suffered enough…?” he asked quietly, his voice scratching in his throat, “My whole life, and when I finally felt _happy_ , everything just falls apart. I did everything right, didn’t I? I did what I was meant to, and still...”

The room did not answer him.

Aza took in a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut to banish the hot stinging, and looked down at the mask in hands - only to drop it as if stung. His hands snatched away, lifted up as if to smack away the thing now lying on the desk, staring at what he’d unconsciously made without thought.

For gleaming dimly under the moonlight, sending silver streaks across dark wood, an Ascian mask glared up at him.

* * *

Bluebird grunted when something nudged her shoulder, knowing who it was before she opened her eyes.

“S’too early,” she mumbled into her pillow, her horns picking up the distant chatter of drunken patrons in the inn they had crashed at. Her internal clock said it was sometime in the very early hours, “Sleep.”

“Bluebird,” Aza mumbled, his tone quiet and strained, “I had a bad dream.”

Code for: ‘I had a night terror so severe it almost triggered a flashback please distract me’.

“Yer lucky I love you,” she mumbled, rolling onto her back and squinting her eyes open. It was pitch black, Aza visible as a faint silhouette with glinting gold eyes. If it weren’t a sight she was used to, it would’ve freaked her out. She lifted her arm, and wordlessly Aza curled up next to her on the, admittedly cramped, bed. She could hear the frame squeak in protest from their combined weight.

Aza’s skin felt hot and clammy against hers, and Bluebird frowned, wondering if the Thanalan climate wasn’t agreeing with him. He’d complained of feeling a bit under the weather these past few weeks ever since they arrived.

“Alright?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” Aza whispered, his cheek resting on her shoulder, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Bluebird said, “You just feel all sweaty and gross.”

Aza huffed irritably, “It’s hot.”

 _Not that hot_ , Bluebird thought worriedly. While the days were dry and toasty, the nights were cold and soothing. With the window open, coaxing in a gentle breeze along with Camp Drybones’ nightlife of travellers and soldiers, the room was actually quite cool. But, she knew better than to push - Aza would get more secretive and grumpy - so she let the topic drop.

“What was your dream about?” she asked instead.

“I dunno,” Aza sighed, “It was weird… but, horrible. I was standing in some kind of empty space filled with stars, and… I was standing on a glowing platform, but it was broken in half.”

Empty space filled with stars and a glowing platform? The hell? “What, like, obviously broken?”

“Yeah, like… the other half was getting sucked into this black hole thing,” Aza quietened, then added, “And, then I fell through the platform, into darkness, and someone started shouting at me, but I… couldn’t make out the words. It sounded like they were yelling through a storm or something… and then I woke up.”

Bluebird frowned. Not Aza’s usual nightmare, which tended to conjure up one of his old memories and twist the details around. They rarely tended to lean towards the abstract or fantastical, whereas this was just… plain weird. Maybe he’d eaten something funky that gave him messed up dreams?

“Sounds fucked up,” she offered.

“Yeah,” Aza sounded troubled, “Fucked up...”

“It was probably that weird desert fruit you tried out earlier,” Bluebird said, “Don’t worry about it. Just go back to sleep, okay? I’m here, so nothing bad’ll happen.”

“Mm,” Aza said nothing after that, and his breathing stayed too quick and steady for him to fall asleep - but he was quiet, and Bluebird was exhausted, so she guiltlessly let her eyes close and started to doze. She couldn’t do anything about bad dreams, and if Aza said he was fine now, then he was fine.

But still… what a weird dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c go hogwild with theories, if you want


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aza has a very controlled mental breakdown in this chapter so be warned

It had been exactly seven weeks since Aza had been dumped in the past and he was finally beginning to understand what insanity was.

The realisation came on one shitty day, pissing it down with rain - he was soaked to the bone, waist deep in bog, waiting for his… _companions_ to catch up with him. They weren’t really companions, though. The Ala Mhigan Resistance members were… were props. He refused to connect with them, at all, and probably came across as a cold, raging asshole because of it, but he was beyond caring about that now. They were a means to an end, a vehicle for him to ride up to Zenos before he stabbed his fucking face off - after that, Aza could leave without a hint of guilt or attachment, because to do otherwise would just destroy him. So. He stayed cold.

The group he was with were mostly green recruits - Zenos hadn’t been spotted in a while, but Imperial activity had increased out in the wildlands, and whatever the Imperials were interested in, would surely lure out Zenos if they caused enough of a stink. But, their more experienced men were tied up in more dangerous jobs of sabotage and reconnaissance on the Ala Mhigan Quarter, so it was up to Aza to lead these helpless little, bright eyed idiots and give them a taste of blood without the danger while also figuring out what the Imperials were sniffing over. Aza could easily dump them if he needed to, anyways, so he wasn’t overly bothered about their presence.

Yet.

He couldn’t put his finger on it. He had a feeling, for a while, ever since Zenos inadvertently glimpsed his face, that there was something amiss. It was a pressure, gentle at first, but increasing to the point of suffocation, on the inside of his ribs, pushing _out_ . It increased every time someone called him _Fray_ , more and more, tighter and tighter, until he was certain it was just going to _crack_ and-

“F-Fray?” A wobbly, chattering voice drew him out of his red-hazed thoughts, and it took him a moment to realise he had been staring emptily at a rather drowned bush for a good few minutes, “Are you okay?”

Aza looked at the three recruits that finally caught up to him. They looked young, barely eighteen (one of them looked _sixteen_ for Gods’ sake), their armour coated in brackish mud and looking miserable - yet determined, their faces grim yet eyes bright with that hopeful light that just made Aza want to crush their spirits until they hurt like him. It was a cruel, petty feeling, one he easily boxed away. There was enough misery in this world without him adding to it.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, “Just tired.”

It was dark, despite it being the middle of the day, the thick, black clouds and sheets of grey rain making things unbearably dim. Still, Aza saw the recruits exchange dubious looks, and he felt a flare of annoyance. The hell are they judging him for?

But he didn’t call them on it, and neither did they push. Aza turned away, feeling droplets drip from the beak of his hood and over the polished, wooden surface of his mask as he continued through the bog.

His mask. He kept what he made a week ago. That Ascian mask. For whatever, insane reason, he kept it, and _wore_ it. A part of him hoped the audacity of it would lure in an Ascian, and he could just- _rip them_ **_apart_ ** _and-_

Something in him broiled. He struggled to put a lid on it, his breathing hissing between clenched teeth - the noise thankfully covered by the rain and the sloshing of their wading. He felt like a wire pulled taut, trembling, ready to snap - he _was_ going to snap, and he couldn’t _tell anyone_ about it. It was like drowning in quicksand, flailing madly for a helping hand but grasping at thin air.

Bluebird would always be there, he could tell her anything, no matter how insane, and she’d take it in stride - because she already thought Aza was nuts, but trusted him. Aymeric, too, used to listen to him, to help him rationalise his wilder thoughts and keep him reasonable, the Scions helped him maintain normality, a standard to strive to, but none of that was here. _None of it_. Just Resistance, desperate and hungry for any win, and greedy for more when they got it, and they pushed and pulled, they eyed Aza like a prize, a glorious weapon that would win them their country back, and oh, he knew they’d reward him, love him for it, but it wasn’t- not the same, it wasn’t-

And in the middle of that bog, with oblivious recruits on his heels, Aza felt himself brush up against _insanity_. It wasn’t simply- a deep rage, or helplessness, or something. No, it was as if he went beyond emotion - something so far and deep, practically to another country, ice-cold and white, and his fingers itched to claw at himself, to strip away _Fray_ and be _him_ , _him, him_ -

“Um, Fray-”

_its aza its aza its aza_

“Yeah,” something said in aza’s voice

“Are we _sure_ there’re Imperials here? I just, uh, I thought we were gonna fight some, and-”

“Fight some with Fray around? Pssh, he’ll murder ‘em all before you even drew your blade, Theo!”

_its aza its aza its aza_

“Stop bothering Fray, guys. We’re meant to be _patrolling_ which means _quiet_ -”

**_its aza its aza its aza_ **

Stop. Stop. Stop.

“Yes, quiet,” he said, managing to cram something resembling sanity in the cracks he could feel rupturing. Still, there was something in his tone that made the recruits hush with a wary silence. His back was to them so he could not see their faces, but he didn’t want to know what his expression was right now. There was something ugly and alien clawing at his bones, and he knew if he looked at them he’d do something he’d regret.

It wasn’t their fault. Aza wasn’t cruel enough to lash out at them either. But fuck, he _wanted to_. He wanted to _rip something apart_ like he needed it to live, but he swallowed it, he swallowed it down and let it burn in him, remembering, a faint, rasping memory of Fray, real Fray, murmuring; “ _Don’t drink too deep of the darkness. It will eat you alive.”_

It already was - and it was still starving.

A crackle of lightning lashed over the sky then, and Aza glimpsed his reflection in the dirty water lapping around his thighs. He did not recognise the masked man that looked up at him, with eyes burning a scorching red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, we finally see him cracking apart. But! considering he had all of his support structure ripped away from him and basically planted in a land where he knows and trusts no one while having to pretend to be someone else, for seven weeks by himself, i'm amazed he'd stayed civil for this long (and is still staying civil!). not much in way of plot but i did say this was mostly oneshots that are in somewhat chronological order so yeeeee 
> 
> time frame wise, though i've implied it but i realise i should probably specify: this is around the time WoL gets invited to join the Scions, so we're very early in ARR. Aza is forcing everything ahead of schedule by like two expansions lmao 
> 
> thanks for everyone who's been following this so far, and for kudos and comments! i'm always interested to hear your thoughts and theories, though i'm incredibly bad at replying individually, know i appreciate all your feedback :3

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally gonna be a oneshot, but fuck i liked this idea too much so... this isn't gonna be a _fic_ , exactly, more like loose oneshots that follow a chronological order, bc i don't have the energy to make a full blown time travel fic right now. i hope you all enjoy this insanity bc this is gonna be one wild train ride my guys


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